


Demons

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Wire in the Blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-17
Updated: 2006-12-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 01:50:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1625177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set at the end of The Mermaids Singing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Demons

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Tiriel

 

 

'What the bloody hell were you thinking?'

Tony couldn't help but cry out at the pain as Carol gave his shoulder a shove. 'Oh, God, Tony, I'm sorry!' she hugged him again, and he sagged against her, wondering how much longer he'd be able to support his own weight. He could feel the adrenaline speeding through his veins, but now that the police had arrived, that wouldn't last much longer. He'd be awake for ages, but the ability of the body to sustain physical motion--even standing--against pain and exhaustion beyond the end of the need for fight or flight was--

'Tony!'

Carol's sharp call kept him from falling down, but only just. He leaned on her as she helped him stagger to a chair against the far wall of the room. It was only when she covered him with her coat that he remembered. 'I'm naked.'

'Yes, I had noticed that.' Her usual dry humour was laced with something else he was too tired to place. 'They found your clothes over there,' she said, jerking her head towards the table, 'but I'm afraid they're no good. He--she cut them.'

'Oh.' He took a deep breath, seeing just how far he could go without wincing at the pain, but she noticed. She always noticed, damn her.

She moved to help him up, her hands encircling his arm. 'Right. Come on, then.'

'Are you taking me home?'

'No. The paramedics are outside. They'll give you the once over before deciding if you need to be in hospital.'

Tony shook his head, refusing to stand. 'I'm fine. Just want to go home.'

'Fine? Really?' She let go of him and stood straight, giving him a measuring look. 'Let's see you stand, then. Go on.'

He looked up at her pleadingly, but she wasn't having it. 'All right,' she continued, 'take a deep breath.'

At the first try, it caught in his chest and he winced. Carol shook her head. 'Can't stand, can't even breathe, and you think you're going home?' She bent to help him up.

He didn't dare argue again.

She tried to stay in the ambulance while he was examined, but he drew the line and with the paramedics to back him up, she had to give in. The paramedics were merciful--they gave him a pair of scrubs to wear before checking him over. They seemed to think he would be fine--nothing cracked or broken or dislocated--though how he'd managed that one he had no idea. They warned him his muscles and tendons would likely ache from the strain for weeks, maybe longer, gave him a prescription for a muscle relaxer, and let him go.

Carol was standing a few yards from the ambulance, talking with Don, but her eyes were fixed on the doors of the vehicle, clearly waiting for him. She watched him the whole time as she finished her conversation and joined him at the back of the ambulance. 'They're not taking you to hospital, then?'

A quick shake of his head earned Tony another shooting pain through the shoulders. 'No. Said I'd be fine.'

'Don't know you very well, do they?'

He smiled at that; laughing, teasing Carol he could deal with far easier than the concerned and intense version. And he was in no state to deal with the later--the adrenaline rush had gone completely, and he was lucky to still be standing--or rather leaning--much less able to think. He didn't deal with intense Carol well on his best days.

She looked him up and down. 'Nice outfit, doctor. Need a lift home?'

'Please?' They walked silently to her car and drove just as silently back to his house. It was only once they were inside that he realised he'd not given his account of the night's events. 'Don't I need to give my statement?'

She herded him to a chair. 'Don't worry--it'll keep until tomorrow. She's not going anywhere. Did they give you anything for the pain?'

'No. I've got paracetamol in the kitchen cabinet.'

He tried to get up, but she waved a hand at him. 'Stay there; I'll get it.'

Once he'd taken the tablets and washed them down with the glass of water she'd brought to him, he leaned back in the chair, staring up at her.

'Are you all right?' she asked. He noticed the question was a great deal more careful than usual.

'I'll survive.' That was the one thing that was both a blessing and a curse at times like the one he'd just been through--knowing just how much he could survive and still live to tell about it. At least others had the hope that death would be swift and take them away from the pain. But not him. He'd known that out-thinking the psychopath had been his only chance of ending the pain. And he'd done it, too, he thought, remembering with some satisfaction the thud of those shackles on... 'What's her name?'

Carol squinted at him. 'Who?'

'The killer, the one who had me. What's her name?'

'Angelica Bain.'

Right. The shackles on Angelica's head, then.

'Tony?'

He looked up at Carol again. 'Yes?'

'Do you want to talk about it?'

'Hm?'

'Do you want to talk about what happened?'

He chewed on his lip for a moment. Chances were he'd sleep better if he talked, got everything out in the open and analysed it. But how much could he say without saying too much? Carol was a good investigator; it wouldn't take much for her to read between the lines, and if he started talking about torture....

Then again, he'd never been much good at deceit, either. He preferred to have things out, to straighten up misconceptions, clear up misunderstandings. And he needed to talk.

'I assume you got my message on your answerphone?' When she nodded, he continued. 'Well, that was her at the door. She was getting into their homes by pretending her car had broken down.'

'We'd pieced that together,' Carol said, sitting down in the chair opposite him. 'What I don't understand is why you let her in. I know you, Tony. You knew it was her.'

It wasn't even close to a question, and here was the problem of how much to tell, how much to keep for himself. How much soul-bearing would lessen the nightmares he was certain would come later when he slept? 'I had to know.'

'Know what?'

Careful, Tony, careful. This one will figure you out. 'If she really was the one we were looking for.'

'You knew.'

Said with such certainty, and he wanted to get up and walk, pace, move. He always thought better that way, but his legs refused to listen, so.... 'I knew. But there was no proof.'

'We've been to her house. There's plenty of proof, including an expensive computer system with all the required software, and five damning videos labelled AS, GF, PG, DC and AH. But then you knew that would be there, too, didn't you?'

Less certainty there, as if she wanted to believe he'd done this all on a whim to figure out the killer. Which wasn't quite the truth, but close enough that he'd need to tread carefully. 'Not for certain, no. The videos were bound to be somewhere close to hand, but they could easily be destroyed or hidden where only she could find them.'

'But you said yourself that she didn't believe she'd be caught.'

'Because she was careful. She took precautions; that might have been one of them.'

Carol pursed her lips, but after a moment, she let it drop. 'So you let her in, she drugged you, and then?'

'I woke up naked in that room in an excruciating amount of pain.'

'What was that thing?'

'A strappado. With squassation. The Germans added a spike to the device, but she said she couldn't get it to--'

'I get the picture. How did you manage to get out of it?'

And there was that too-careful tone again, not that he could blame her. He'd been hoping she would realise enough not to ask, though really he knew here well enough that he should've known she'd ask anyway.

'I'd been studying her--her motives, what she wanted. It wasn't that difficult to figure out how to get through to her.' Please, Carol, don't ask any more.

Either she somehow heard his silent plea, or she had decided she knew enough--or figured she'd hear it all in his statement--but she stood up suddenly. 'You'll want a shower and some sleep then, I think, so--'

Shower. 'Carol, did you hear the whole message I left?'

'We were listening on speaker. I stopped it--I wasn't sure what--it doesn't matter.' She picked up her bag.

It did matter, but he didn't know how to put it all into words. Words always got in his way when it was important, and about him. He could put the insane frustrations of serial killers into words, but then those feelings weren't his. They couldn't harm him. Well, unless the killer came after him, but that was a rarity, thank God.

'Tony?'

She'd reached the door. 'Hm?'

'Are you going to be all right?'

He tilted his head, as much of an answer as he had at the moment. Thought briefly about asking her to stay and eat, but the thought of food made him more than a little nauseous, so maybe not. 'I'm just going to shower and sleep.'

'All right. Listen,' she said, her hand turning the door knob, 'call me if you need...anything. No matter the time, yeah?'

He nodded gingerly, pleased that it caused only a dull ache instead of shooting pain. 'Thanks.'

She gave him a smile and left. He closed his eyes at the click of the door behind her and listened as her steps faded away down the staircase, and then he was alone with silence.

No, he realised, silence was the soundproof basement hell he'd been held in. As he sat there, he could hear traffic roll by, hear the sound of his fridge--and he needed to have someone look at that soon, it sounded on its last legs--and other ordinary, every day sounds, the ones that frequently lulled him to sleep whilst he sat in that very chair, thinking.

A minute or two passed, but the sounds of silence had lost the soothing effect they usually had. Tired, frustrated, but unable to sleep, he opened his eyes and moved carefully to sit in front of the telly.

If he couldn't kill his own demons, he'd deal with a few of Lara Croft's instead.

\---  
END

 


End file.
